


Orestes Drunk, Pylades Fascinated and Confused

by espetrell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: ...i dont know whats going on in this fic, M/M, warning: drunk people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espetrell/pseuds/espetrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you know there's a kind of rice pudding alcoholic enough to get you drunk? Enjolras didn't. Grantaire shows up to see what drunk Enjolras looks like, and it isn't what he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orestes Drunk, Pylades Fascinated and Confused

**Author's Note:**

> My friend was telling me about how her dad got drunk off of rice pudding somehow, and of course my first impulse was, "I MUST MAKE THIS E/R." Mostly this was an excuse to research bad pick-up lines. I never quite know how to write drunk people, so... hope this isn't shit.

Grantaire was actually working on his thesis project for once when the blaring chords of Bohemian Rhapsody startled him out of his concentrated state. He pushed back from his computer, rubbing at his eyes to stop their stinging dryness, and pulled out his phone from his pants pocket.

“Hello?” Grantaire asked, making his way over to his kitchen. If he was already going to be distracted from his work, he might as well get a beer.

“Grantaire!” Combeferre’s voice came urgently from the speaker. “What’re you doing?”

“Um, working on my thesis? It’s –“

“How important is it?”

“Well,” said Grantaire, baffled, “it’s not _due_ for –“

“Can you come over here right now?”

“What is even going _on_?”

“I got Enjolras drunk.”

Grantaire froze, his hand on the handle of the fridge.

“I’m sorry?”

“My parents came to visit, and they left a shit-ton of rice pudding, the alcoholic kind, and Enjolras wanted to try it, so…”

“How much of a lightweight do you have to be to get drunk off of rice pudding?”

“Are you coming over or not?”

“Already out the door,” said Grantaire, grabbing his keys and running.

Combeferre answered the door almost before Grantaire had finished ringing the doorbell, eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter. From behind him, Grantaire could hear Courfeyrac’s unfettered guffaw and, almost too high-pitched to hear, a tipsy giggle. He hurried through the hallway and stopped short, taking in the scene in front of him. Used silverware was scattered across every open surface, and Courfeyrac and Enjolras themselves were sprawled out on Combeferre’s couch. Enjolras’ hair was, inexplicably, tied up in two asymmetrical pigtails, and in his hands he held a bottle whose label told Grantaire it was rice wine. Enjolras lit up when he saw Grantaire, as enthusiastic as a puppy whose owner had just come in the door.

“Grand R!” cried Enjolras, stopping to laugh heartily at his own terrible joke. A joke that Grantaire himself had come up with years before. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Courfeyrac laughed harder when he noticed that he had arrived.

“You didn’t warn him, did you, ‘Ferre?”

“What would be the fun in that?” Combeferre replied, taking a seat on one of the armchairs by the sofa and gesturing for Grantaire to take the other, which he couldn’t help noticing was closer to Enjolras.

“I don’t think I would have believed him if he had,” Grantaire added weakly, sitting down.

“R, R, R,” Enjolras giggled, making grabby-hands in Grantaire’s general direction. “Feel my shirt!”

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, but obliged to lean over and drag his hand down Enjolras’ shoulder. It felt normal, maybe cotton. “What-“

“It’s _boyfriend material!_ ” Enjolras squealed, collapsing into another fit of laugher. Courfeyrac’s face fell from laughter to surprise.

“No fucking way,” he gasped, “Now he’s gone to pickup lines.”

“Cheesy pickup lines,” Combeferre added, “He was doing bad puns before. Let me have that bottle, Enjolras, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Grantaire, are you from Tennessee?” Enjolras asked, letting Combeferre take it.

Grantaire knew what was coming this time. “God, Enjolras, not that-“

“’Cause you’re the only ten _I_ see!”

Enjolras giggled for a while longer then suddenly said, “R! You should tell me the one about ‘did you fall from heaven,’ you know.”

“Why?” Grantaire asked wearily. It had only been five minutes, and he was already feeling more disturbed since the camping incident. They had agreed not about the camping incident ever again.

“’Cause I’m _Ange_ -olras!” Enjolras declared.

“He looks more excited about that pun than he did when he made it up, and he was maybe 6 at the time,” Combeferre commented, taking a sip from the bottle he had liberated from Enjolras.

“Ooh! I’ve got another one,” Enjolras said gleefully, “R, do you need a map?”

“I know this one, Enjolras,” Grantaire started to say, but Enjolras cut him off by continuing, “’Cause I’m getting lost in your eyes!”

“That is- that is the cheesiest one,” Grantaire groaned, but he stopped speaking when Enjolras suddenly frowned and leaned closer. Way closer. Grantaire estimated that he couldn’t have been more than two or three inches away from his face, but it was a very rough estimate, because he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

“They’re really pretty, though,” Enjolras whispered, tipping his head to stare Grantaire down more effectively. Grantaire distantly heard Courfeyrac begin to choke on delighted laughter, but he couldn’t care less right now.

“Um, no?” he decided to say, “They’re just brown.”

“No, hazel,” Enjolras corrected, “Have I ever told you that? Maybe you don’t notice. They’re brown and green and… and gold, too. I could look in them all day.”

Grantaire found that he had no response to that statement other than a squeak of mixed embarrassment and confusion. Then, as quickly as he had leaned in, Enjolras jumped back to cuddle back into the couch next to Courfeyrac.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprisingly quiet, “I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I?”

“What? Enjolras,” Grantaire began, trying to figure out what to say. Enjolras had made him surprised and self-conscious, but not _uncomfortable_. Grantaire would have actually liked it if he’d gotten just a little bit closer.

Courfeyrac, who apparently felt like he needed to say something since Enjolras was practically leaning on his shoulder, began, “Enjolras-“

“Fuck off, Courf!” Enjolras snapped, startling him into drawing back as though he’d touched a stove, hurt clear on his face. “This is your fault,” he continued, drawing up his knees and letting his head fall onto them, “You gave me the alcohol and now I’ve made a fool of myself in front of Grantaire.”

“You didn’t make a fool of yourself,” Grantaire said as gently as he could, and Enjolras looked up at him hopefully. He got up out of the chair and sat next to Enjolras, Courfeyrac moving over to make room. “Honestly, I am quite flattered that you think my eyes are pretty. Thanks.”

Enjolras perked up, a smile returning to his face, and asked, “So did the pickup lines work then?”

Grantaire paused to try and see if there was any other meaning to that phrase that he was forgetting, then weakly asked, “Work?”

“Did they, ah,” Enjolras paused here, struggling for words, finally showing a sign of a mental filter, “charm you?”

“You already charm me,” Grantaire replied, trying to ignore the way Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s faces slowly started lighting with joy as they began to see where this conversation was leading. Instead he focused on Enjolras’ face, which had broken into as wide a smile as if he’d said, “I love you.” Which, in essence, he had. Grantaire had just started to wonder whether he could dare hope the smile meant, “I love you too,” when Enjolras leaned in closer and closed the gap between them, kissing him right on the mouth. Grantaire allowed himself a couple seconds of blissful pleasure before pulling back.

“Are you serious about this, Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, breathless and just a bit terrified, “Are you just doing this because you’re drunk?”

“No, no, no! Ask them!” Enjolras gestured towards Courfeyrac and Combeferre, who stared up guiltily from where they were huddled around Courfeyrac’s phone. Grantaire remembered way too late that Courfeyrac’s phone camera didn’t have a shutter sound, and gasped in horror.

“Don’t you dare send that out!” he yelled, only stopping himself from going over and grabbing the phone because Enjolras was still practically on top of him and he didn’t want to upset that.

“He’s serious, alright, Grantaire,” Combeferre said, “Enjolras, show him your phone’s lock screen.”

“Oh, gosh,” Enjolras groaned, grimacing in embarrassment. Grantaire, remembering a couple times where he had tried to take Enjolras’ phone and had it grabbed away with far more viciousness than necessary, merely asked, “What lock screen?”

“When I first realized I had a huge dumb crush on you, which I totally do…” Enjolras said to stall for time as he clumsily dug through his pockets in search of his phone. Grantaire was still processing that one when Enjolras gave a cry of triumph and pulled out his phone, passing it to Grantaire. He pressed the on button and the screen lit up. It had the time and date and slide-to-unlock button, but behind them was a picture of Grantaire, hair tousled and smiling with an open enthusiasm he rarely expressed. He was about to say something about the expression when he realized that his hair hadn’t been that long for quite some time, which completely derailed his thoughts.

“How did you even get this picture?” Grantaire asked instead.

“Jehan took it for me,” Enjolras explained, “I had to give him, like, $20 to convince him not to tell. Then he did anyways.”

As he said this, he threw a pointed glare at Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who had the tact to look guilty.

“We wrote the text but hadn’t sent the photo yet,” Combeferre explained, handing over Courfeyrac’s phone. The photo they had taken was already open on the screen. It was taken from behind Enjolras, so the slice of Enjolras’ face that could be seen was mostly obscured by his hair. Grantaire was more visible, his cheeks flushed red and eyes wide with shock.

“My pigtails look _shit_ ,” Enjolras finally said after a long pause.

“Actually, it’s not a great photo at all,” Grantaire added, “Were you shaking with laughter when you took it? It shows.”

“What were we supposed to do?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Take another one,” Grantaire said, passing back the phone. Enjolras had already started taking out the hairbands that held his hair up, and stopped to giggle delightedly at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s equally shocked faces.

“Are you serious?” Courfeyrac cried in disbelief as Combeferre poked him in the shoulder and hissed, “Get your phone ready!”

Enjolras dragged the hairbands out of his hair, shook his head to let the hair cascade down his back in a more flattering manner, and tipped back forward for a second kiss. This time, Grantaire didn’t break away, even when every phone in the room started chirping and buzzing frantically as more people opened their phones to find the picture and the news. He only looked up when Combeferre awkwardly cleared his throat a couple of times.

“Good for you, years of angsty pining finally over, I get it,” Combeferre said, “But if you’re going to be all night about it, can you not do it on my couch?”

“Your place or mine?” Enjolras asked, with a seductive smirk Grantaire never would have thought would be directed at him.

“Mine is closer,” Grantaire said hesitantly, but Enjolras didn’t seem bothered or repentant. On the contrary, his smile became a wide grin and he rolled off the couch, Grantaire behind him.

“Bye, losers, me n’ Grantaire are going to –“

“Bye, guys,” Grantaire interrupted, suddenly not wanting Enjolras to finish his sentence. Enjolras grabbed his hand, and they left their laughing friends behind, together.


End file.
